I'm writing from a third-floor suite of a hotel alongside I-70 W, about 180 miles east of Kansas City, Missouri. Drove twelve hours from Atlanta to get here... Sounds rough, but the rental agency gave me a free Jeep mid-SUV upgrade; the drive was a breeze. I've been listening to Motoro Faam, The Drift, lots of dubstep, the Adverts' Anthology, selections from the Blossoming Noise catalogue, the Shave 'FMU broadcast (picking bits of it apart for analysis - lots of work ahead), Close Calls, the Danger Mouse/Banksy guerilla version of Paris Hilton's debut CD (not a remix, more of a piss-take that transcends its intentions - it's superb, unrelenting), other stuff...
Otherwise, I've had far too much fucking coffee.
What the Hell am I doing here?
My son leaves for Iraq on Monday.
I'm meeting he and his wife tomorrow for dinner in Junction City, and then she and I will see him off on the morning of the 18th. Yeah, I'm sad.
(I may look ridiculous, but this is exactly how I feel. Fuck the world...)
Why not fly? I wanted to know the route. I need to be able to map my anxieties. retrace this bitter mood of desanguination... No blood left whatsoever.
But, I'm certain we'll joke around, shoot the shit, take the usual goofy pix, and try not to make much of it. Or, I'll cry like the emotional freak that I am, shit my trousers, etc. All the righteous manly stuff for which I'm idolized...
Ironies a-plenty. Evan loathes that cocksucker Bush as much as I (or anyone with a semblance of cerebral activity should), but he's an idealist and an outdoorsman; he's following his instincts, and who am I to object? (I know he's read lots of Hemmingway...) We've spoken of his decision to join the Army, sign up for the infantry, and volunteer for the most dangerous fucking imaginable duty - escorting convoys on their daily sojourns outside the Green Zone - for months on end. I understand him completely, but it doesn't make the situation any less insane... I love him without reservation. What can I say? It's his shocking move, a defining lunge. Dawn (his wife) and I just want him back sans perforations, bionics...
I'm fast-forwarding to 10:30 am, CST - a strong thunderstorm rages outside; hail producing systems are likely in the afternoon. Fucking Midwest... Good thing my ride is parked 120 feet from the front fucking lobby... Wireless cutting in and out.
At least the weather matches my mood.
(Ahhh... Balmy Missouri.)